


demiurge

by Anonymous



Series: apostasy [2]
Category: Elsword (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, light gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 12:52:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10163420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: - a being responsible for the creation of the universe, in particular.- (in Platonic philosophy) the Maker or Creator of the world.- (in Gnosticism and other theological systems) a heavenly being, subordinate to the Supreme Being, that is considered to be the controller of the material world and antagonistic to all that is purely spiritual.





	

Ain does not speak, eyes bright and vast like stars scattered across space. His hands and feet are bound, magic and celestial energy hold him in place, suspended in what passed for heaven for Ishmael.

She frowns in disappointment, eyes glittering at him pleadingly.

Ain smiles. Rows and rows of teeth stretch across his maw.

She looks perturbed, he finds amusement in her reaction. Fear is a wonderful expression in her visage. Her human shell is still the same girl – Hernia, was it?

She has yet to shed the last vestiges of her humanity, and Ain wonders if she will bleed red like the rest. The taste of blood sparks the hunger deep within his ravenous belly. Already, he longs for the taste of ash and the screams of the dying. His hands twitch, and the goddess takes a step back in reaction.

“Hello, Ishmael,” Ain deigns to greet her, tilts his head to the side much like a curious cat. His eyes blink at her, floating lazily in circles, bound and held by her magic. She is not afraid of his humanity, rather, she is afraid of how he twisted and warped it beyond comprehension. His form shivers between the shell of flesh and blood, and that of his form conceived in the Void. Ain barely holds himself from spilling out of his skin, the human trapping too fragile to hold his form.

“Ainchase Ishmael,” she begins, holds her head high and erases all semblance of a human expression off her face. Once upon a time, Ain will find himself cowed and humbled just to gaze upon her visage. Now, it simply amuses him at how she plays her hand at being a _god._

“I prefer Ain these days,” he replied casually.  He stretches, eyes blink across his corrupted skin. “A corrupted form of the name you gave. Much like everything else.”

She tries not to frown. Ain can see it in the light wavering in her eyes, the lines of worry tugging at the corner of her lips, the tiny twitches her fingers make. She reaches out to him, and Ain reaches back with a snap of his teeth.

She pulls back, surprised. Ain smiles at her.

“You seem to be under the impression that you can get rid of the corruption,” Ain gives her a smile she is familiar with, and he can feel her heart stutter at the familiarity. Her eyes look for any trace that could be saved, any hint of the Celestial she once blessed, and Ain lets her look. Much like the humans she loves so much, she will look and look and look. When she realises that it’s an exercise in futility, Ain will relish and savour every drop of horror and despair.

“You are my creation,” she says. It’s an interesting line of thought. Except, the Void already broke Ain into tiny pieces, sundered him inch by inch, and remade him into something… _greater_ than some Celestial slave, bound to her will. No, he is much more than _her_ creation. He _is_ a _god_ of his own choosing. Once he is a lowly servant, now he rules over Henir’s domain.

He has long accepted the many gifts the Void gave him, its once maddening cries are now sweet lullabies, its visions of blood and chaos are now his ambrosia, and its hunger for flesh is now Ain’s own ravenous longing.

The Void claimed Ain as much as Ain claimed the Void.

The Void is greater than the goddess ever will be. Everything began in the chaotic energy of the Void, and as such, all shall return to it.

“I am sorry,” she goes on, and Ain almost laughs. “I was not there to answer your prayers – to bless and guide you. I am so sorry that it has come to this.”

“Oh, _my_ dear goddess,” Ain tuts as if she is a child in need of a scolding. He looks down on her and sees that she is lesser. “Even if you answer my prayers _now_ , I will not be floundering to your side as if I am some rebellious schoolboy awaiting punishment. No, I find it amusing that you decide to answer long-forgotten prayers _now._ Now that I am no longer your devout servant, now that I hold domain over the Void. Do you think of me as some dog in need of positive reinforcement? Or do you think of me as a greedy human who turns heel at the prospect of a reward?”

“Then what is it, that I must do, to purify you of your corruption?” Her expression is thunderous, her eyes glow with the rage of a slighted deity. The world shudders and trembles at her impending rage, a goddess wronged and offended. Tools of her punishment are almost forming in her hands, ready to mete out what she perceives to be righteous justice. She is a god, she must be thinking, therefore her will is just and holy.

“Absolutely nothing.” Ain and his plethora of eyes stare back. The human form is already ripping at the seams, the non-light of the Void spilling out at the tears in the skin. The endless emptiness stare back at Ishmael’s cool blue eyes, and she tries not to stare at the extent of his corruption. “I chose this. An act of apostasy, if possible, cannot be reversed. I have turned away from you and your teachings, why should I come back?”

“Because I will still take you as one of my own, as one of my children,” she pleads, grabs at threads that are not there. She implores him, trying to make him see _her_ reason, see _her_ point of view. However, the moment Ain’s eyes opened to the vastness of the Void and its infinite possibilities, he cannot return to his small-minded idiocy of being a dog for a goddess who is not omnipotent nor omniscient. If anything, Ain is twice as much as she ever will be now. “There is still a chance for forgiveness, Ain. Please, do not treat it as if it were a joke.”

“You are very precocious.” Ain shifts and the shackles around his limbs began to crack and shatter. Ishmael is staring at him, fear and despair blooming in her expression. The once-Celestial can taste it at the tip of his tongue, sweet and filling, as thick and syrupy as blood. “How naïve of you, to think that I would ever _want_ your forgiveness. I have no need for it, see.”

“Then you intend to destroy life on Elrios? Kill all the faithful and good?”

Ain laughs, deep and low. His voice echoes with the many whispers of the Void, their mirth spilling over through his throat and it reverberates throughout the non-space he is suspended in. His shoulders shake and his eyes glow with manic light as his laughter dissolves into maddened giggling. He takes a useless breath and turned to the goddess with wild eyes.

“Oh no, what I want to do is to turn them away from _you._ Staying in Elrios simply made you unstable and weak, and perhaps soon they will all realise you are not as powerful or as all-knowing that you like to think you are. What good is a goddess who could not protect her creation, nor influence the threads of fate in their favour? There is an equally, if not, more so, powerful god in existence to parallel your own.” Ain gives her a look, assessing and almost joyful. “Perhaps I will mislead them away from you, have them scrambling for the barest scrape of true knowledge and misinterpret your every word. Divide them by nations, by religions, and have them kill and bring bloodshed under your name. The best part? You won’t be able to do anything about it. Not that you think you can interfere, rather, I know you can _never_ interfere.”

“There are hundred –thousands– of people who will remain good, who will not give in to bloodshed or fear. Your plan won’t work.” Ishmael straightens her back, all full of godly dignity and poise. “I have no doubt about that.”

“I have no doubt about it either,” Ain proceeds. “The most I can do, in these cases, is simply have them understand one does not need _you_ to be good. Goodness out of humanity simply for the sake of humanity.”

Confusion dances in her neon-blue eyes, incomprehensible that one can be good without her blessing, without her guidance. At the same time, Ain understood that humanity itself is capable of the most debasing and beastly acts, practically on par with what demons would conjure in their infinite boredom and needless cruelty.

Did Ishmael seriously think she is the source of all good and light?

“Why?” she asks. And oh, the betrayal and her tears are oh so sweet, and Ain can feel another round of laughter bubbling up his throat as she turned away upon seeing him taste the air like a snake. “I understand wanting power for yourself, but why must you set the world ablaze and plunge it to chaos? What will you gain?”

Before Ain can answer, Ishmael takes a step back, and another, and another. Ain stretches the many appendages that passed as his wings, gathers his essence once more and stuffs it back into his mortal shell.

“How did you –“ Ishmael’s eyes dart around the realm, terrified that the Dark God Henir had made his appearance to free her once servant. “Escape should not have been possible.”

“Oh, but it is.” Ain’s movements are smooth and inhuman, more a corpse or doll than a living being. He holds his hand out and the world ripples and stretches and _sunders_. The Void awaits Ain, and he is far too happy to return to its embrace. The maddened whispers now reach Ishnael, and she covers her ears to shut them out. Ain basks in it, lets it crash against his spectral form, lets the gibbering wash over his whole self and replies to the murmurs with promises of blood and destruction.

“Why do this? Bring fire and death to a world you carelessly left to rot simply because a boy was too selfish to let his sister lose the last vestiges of her humanity?” Ain smiles, all teeth and maddened eyes. “Why not?”

Then he falls.

**Author's Note:**

> a somewhat personal interpretation for Apostasia.
> 
> As a somewhat in-the-closet apostate myself, I don't see meself coming back or going for another organised religion like... ever. I'm the agnostic atheist type. I'm kind of leaning on the misotheism side, but I'm more or less agnostic atheist. As far as the wiki goes, Apostasia is full on misotheist (he's kind of more on the Alatrism kind, if I'm going for a somewhat canonical standpoint), since he pretty much abandons his mission and belief for the good goddess Ishmael in exchange of the chaotic-oriented "evil" Henir. Besides, I've yet to hear of apostates, or other people who left their religion fully and willingly returning to it. Based on some people I know, they return for the sake of others, like family or friends if their organised religious group is the close-minded kind.
> 
> Not that I have anything against personal religion. Everyone's entitled to joining if it makes them happy, and everyone should be able to leave if they want to.
> 
> This is also a subversion of Apostasia epilogues where the goddess forgives him and purifies his corrupted form... except he doesn't want to be purified and he's currently enjoying this new lease on life. Also speaking from personal experience, the more someone has "stronger faith" (all the foundations ready to topple over because Ain is so shaken to the point of blindly trusting), it was all the more easier for everything to crash and burn around him AND harder to build up that kind of faith again. Alright not harder, but downright impossible. One does not "stop unbelieving" after stopping believing.


End file.
